


Vindicta

by Python07



Series: If Looks Could Kill [34]
Category: Forever (TV), The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: 5+1 Fic, Adam as Sextus Caesar, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Gen, Psychological Torture, Revenge, Richelieu as Lucius Caesar, Torture, historical fiction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-29 14:08:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13928673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Python07/pseuds/Python07
Summary: Revenge and punishments against 5 conspirators and 1 who might as well have been.





	1. Trebonius

He woke with a start from another nightmare drenched in blood and death. His whole body ached. Lash marks crisscrossed his back, the chains chaffed his skin, and his three missing fingers throbbed. He couldn’t move without sparking a fresh wave of pain.

The cell was cold, dank, and dark. The only sounds were of water dripping and animals skittering in the corners. There were no other prisoners. Dolabella was having too much fun making him suffer.

He trembled. His empty stomach was in knots. His throat was parched and his clothes in tatters.

His ears perked up when he heard the footsteps. He grit his teeth, sat up straighter, and pressed back against the wall. The shivers turned almost violent. Thankfully, there was only one set, so not an armed troop coming to take him for another round with Dolabella and his toys.

The heavy door creaked open and a shadowy figure appeared. It held a torch. “Proconsul Trebonius,” the voice said in a soft Greek accent.

He let out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. His voice cracked. “Athenodorus” 

Athenodorus set the torch in a sconce in the wall. He came closer to kneel in front of Trebonius. He studied Trebonius in the dim light. He frowned. “How are your wounds?”

Trebonius shuddered in dread and swallowed a small pained whimper. “They ache.”

Athenodorus looked to be in his early fifties. He was tall and slender. He had long, wavy silver curls and a full beard. To Trebonius’ eyes, he looked like a statue of Socrates or Plato. “Are you bleeding?”

Trebonius shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

Athenodorus held up a small bag. “I’ve brought you some bread, fruit, dried meat, and water.”

Trebonius snatched it with trembling fingers. He pulled out a small flask. He removed the stopper. Only Athenodorus’ hand on his kept him from downing the water in one go. He snarled and weakly tried to push Athenodorus away.

Athenodorus regarded him with stern compassion. “Slowly or your stomach will rebel.”

Trebonius groaned in protest but slowed down. He nodded. He took small bites and small sips of water. He ate about a third of the food and half the water before he put it all back in the bag and wrapped it in his threadbare blanket. He cleared his throat. “I thank you for your kindness and patience, my friend.”

Athenodorus inclined his head. “It’s the least I can do for the true Roman governor of Asia.”

“You and your people will be rewarded for your loyalty.” Trebonius clutched Athenodorus’ hand. “Have you heard from Cassius?” he asked desperately.

Athenodorus pressed his lips together tightly and shook his head. “No. I have sent many letters and your ring. I’ve used all the money you gave me to hire the fastest ships, but he has not responded.”

Trebonius squeezed Athenodorus’ fingers tightly. “Please. I fear Dolabella will grow tired of the farce of my trial and execute me. Send your son to Cassius. Then he will march to my aide.”

Athenodorus’ eyes widened slightly. He tried to stand. “My Zeno? The journey is long and perilous.”

Trebonius didn’t let go. He yanked Athenodorus closer. “I do not like to ask more of you,” he growled. “But I must. The Liberators must hold Asia.” He held Athenodorus’ gaze. “If Dolabella holds the province, he will continue to loot your cities and rape your lands. I have only asked for the taxes due Rome.”

Athenodorus dropped his eyes. “Very well,” he sighed heavily. “I will do as you ask. Zeno will depart tomorrow.”

Trebonius found himself alone again in his cell. The days ran together and his hidden supplies ran out. Some days, Dolabella paraded him to the sham court, some days Dolabella tortured him, some days they fed him, and some days they didn’t.

He screamed awake. He tried to sit up but everything hurt. He lay back down with a pathetic whimper. He finally saw who was kneeling next to him. “Athenodorus,” he rasped.

Athenodorus looked at him mournfully. “I’m sorry.”

“What?” Trebonius asked, disoriented.

“Dolabella made a proclamation last night.”

Trebonius blinked, still unaware. He would’ve run a hand down his face if he weren’t so exhausted. “Yes?”

Athenodorus bit his bottom lip. “You will be executed this afternoon. You will be beheaded in the main square.”

Trebonius gaped at Athenodorus. “No,” he muttered at a loss. “What of Cassius?”

“Cassius is not coming.”

“No,” Trebonius squeaked in terror. “I’m a Roman citizen.”

Athenodorus winced. “You have been found guilty of treason.”

“Treason!” Trebonius’ broken voice screeched. 

Athenodorus’ eyes narrowed. “You killed the Dictator of Rome,” he pointed out. “A man you once called friend.”

Trebonius tried to move but his body was too heavy. “He wanted to be King!”

“Did he not say ‘I am Caesar, not Rex.’?” Athenodorus put a hand on Trebonius’ chest. He leaned in close to Trebonius’ ear. His voice slowly changed from the Greek accent to pure Patrician Latin. The tone was cold and disdainful. “You didn’t even have the nerve to look him in the face as he died. You hid outside and helped Antony ambush Sextus Caesar, another man you called friend.”

“How…” Trebonius trailed off. “How did you know?”

Athenodorus pulled back just enough to see Trebonius’ face. His lip curled into a superior sneer. “You are deluded by the illusion of your own importance.”

Trebonius couldn’t look away. The trembling became exponentially worse and he would’ve vomited if there was anything in his stomach. There was a heavy weight in his chest. “Blue eyes, not brown. Not Sextus,” he whispered raggedly. “Lucius Caesar.”

“It is better for you that I am not Sextus. He would’ve drawn this out.” Lucius grinned, all teeth. “Goodbye, Trebonius. I’ll be watching at the square.”


	2. Cassius

Cassius was no stranger to bloodshed. He was no stranger to the thrill of victory or the agony of defeat. As long as there was life, there was hope. The debacles at Carrhae and Pharsalus taught him that.

Surrendering to the Caesars and accepting their clemency was one of the lowest points in his life. It was bitter and galling but he bided his time. He was more patient than he ever thought he could be.

That humiliation was worth it when he saw Gaius Caesar and Lucius Caesar die in a shower of blood. He didn’t get to see Sextus Caesar’s corpse but did hear enough of Antony crowing about it to be well and truly annoyed. They should’ve done away with Antony as well. If anyone thought he could fill Gaius Caesar’s shoes, it was Antony, but Brutus insisted that only the Caesars needed to die. Cassius let himself be swayed by that friendship.

The Caesars were truly talented, with the luck of the gods behind them, but they were overbearing. They had to go. It was just that simple. The Liberators may have lost Decimus Brutus in the process but any of them would have given up his life to save Rome from tyranny. 

However, Cassius was bone tired when he fled the battlefield at Philippi. He didn’t see Antony’s men overrun his fortifications in the marshes, but he did see his own troops retreating. He stood amongst them, trying to rally them, but his army was reduced to nothing more than a stampede of frightened animals.

He tried grabbing at them. “Wait!” He waved his gladius in the air. “Stand with me! Who will stand with me!”

His loyal servant, Pindarus, took Cassius’ arm. He leaned in close to Cassius’ ear. His Latin was guttural with a strong Greek accent. “General, we must retreat!”

Cassius looked around wildly. “I…”

Pindarus squeezed Cassius’ arm, hard. “Antony’s men will be here soon. Do you really wish to be dragged before him? He will not be as lenient as Caesar.”

Cassius stiffened and shook off Pindarus’ grip. “Never again,” he growled and took off with Pindarus close behind him.

They retreated into the hills above the field. Cassius peered to the distance towards Brutus’ camp. He heard the sounds of battle, the sounds of weapons clanging and men shouting.

“I think we’ve lost them, but they’ve taken our camp,” Pindarus reported, out of breath. “Can you see what happening to Brutus? He must be engaged.”

Cassius shook his head. “No,” he said bitterly. “Antony has turned our flank. It will not be long before he meets up with Octavian and they overrun Brutus. I believe he is lost.”  
He sank onto a rock, dropped his gladius, and buried his head in his hands. “Are you injured, Pindarus?”

Pindarus stood in front of Cassius. “No, Master.”

Cassius looked up and offered a bitter smile. “After our victory, I planned to free you. I wanted to make you a Roman citizen.”

Pindarus was slender and wiry with a surprising strength that Cassius had to come rely on. He had long shaggy brown hair and a scruffy beard. He may not have looked like a Roman soldier but he was proficient with a gladius and a dagger. He always wore black and refused all offers of any armor. He blinked and something indefinable passed through his eyes. However, he didn’t comment.

Cassius let out a weary sigh. His shoulders slumped. “But I shall never see Rome again.” He shook his head. “We killed the Caesars to free the people. Did they praise us as their liberators? No. They mourned the man who would’ve been their king. They said we killed the peoples’ friends and forced us out of the city.”

“If they hadn’t, then I would not have met you, Master,” Pindarus said softly.

Cassius managed a small, genuine smile. “I almost bypassed Rhodes, but I’ve been thankful every day that I didn’t. You have been a fine servant and more help to me than I can say.” He chuckled. “I still don’t know how you escaped the Temple of Apollo with the temple’s entire treasury.”

One end of Pindarus’ mouth quirked up in an almost cruel, sarcastic smirk. “The priests ignored the slaves. None of them thought a slave would have the nerve to rob them.”

“How did you know I would take you in after such an impious action?” Cassius teased half heartedly.

“All generals need money on campaign,” Pindarus answered flatly.

Cassius sighed heavily. “That’s true.” He planted his hands on the rock and levered himself up to his feet. He unbuckled his breastplate and let it fall to the ground. “The last of the Republic will die with Brutus and me. I refuse to live under Antony or Octavian’s thumb.” He pressed his gladius into Pindarus’ hands. He held Pindarus’ gaze. “End it for me. Quickly.”

Pindarus didn’t blink. He took the gladius and stepped closer. He grabbed Cassius’ shoulder and leaned in close to Cassius’ ear. He spoke in flawless Latin. The gruffness was gone to be replaced but cold, crisp silk. “Do betrayers deserve a quick death?”

Cassius tensed. He backed up against the outcropping of rocks but Pindarus followed him. The jagged rocks stuck into his back and scraped the backs of his legs but there was no room to get away. “Pindarus?” he whispered fearfully.

Pindarus held the blade to Cassius’ throat. “Pindarus is a useful mask. Try again.”

Cassius stared at Pindarus for a long moment. He tried to place those intense dark eyes and that arrogant countenance. “You are familiar.”

Pindarus bared his teeth. “I told cousin Gaius not to trust you. He spared your life and gave you honors, yet you turned on him like a dog. “ He nicked Cassius’ neck. “And don’t spout at me about the Republic. You were jealous of his popularity and his power.”

Cassius’ eyes got wide. “Sextus Caesar,” he gasped, “but Antony killed you.”

Sextus grinned and slit Cassius’ belly. “It didn’t stick.” 

Cassius sank to the ground, his blood and organs spilling out into the dust. Sextus tossed the gladius out of reach and left him to bleed out, slowly and painfully. He could only gasp. He couldn’t even scream.


	3. Brutus

“We should’ve offered battle sooner,” one man yelled from his spot about their meager fire. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much fuel in the rocky hills they were hiding in.

“No, we should’ve held our position and waited to starve the bastards out!” another man shouted back. “We had the high ground and our navy is still better than theirs!”

“Then Antony would’ve surely flanked us,” a third voice joined in.

“Plus, our allies already started deserting us,” a fourth voice pointed out. “The men were itching for a fight. They had enough of sitting about, scratching their asses.”

All of them jumped up to start shouting and shoving each other.

Brutus’ head throbbed. He threw both hands up before swords could be drawn. He didn’t stand. His voice was quiet. “Enough.”

They froze to look at him. He took in their appearance. They were all filthy and stoop shouldered from the fight and exhaustion. They sported all manner of cuts and bruises. Some of them no longer had any weapons or armor. Each of them had a haunted look about him and he was sure he did as well.

He looked each man in the eye for a moment before he spoke again, calm and collected. “Debating what we might have done does nothing to help our situation now. How many men do we have left?”

“About four legions,” the first man answered grimly.

“When they captured our camp, many of the men scattered or were captured,” the second one added.

Brutus didn’t look away from them. “Can anything be gained by throwing the last of our army against the enemy. Can any good come from sacrificing these men?”

None of them answered. None of them would look Brutus in the eye and he had his answer. He sighed heavily. “Go. Leave me for now. See to the comfort of the men we have left. Do what you can for them.”

Some grumbled but they all nodded and disappeared into the darkness. 

Brutus closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Pindarus.”

Pindarus materialized from the shadows. He stood before Brutus and bowed his head. “You called me, Master,” he said respectfully in his heavily accented Latin.

Brutus grimaced. “Please, don’t call me that.” He stood slowly and put a hand on Pindarus’ head. “Cassius planned to free you and I hereby grant you that as a gesture for my fallen friend.”

Pindarus bowed. “I thank you. I only wished that I could’ve saved him, but I lost him during the battle.”

“I know.” Brutus handed Pindarus a silver denarius. “A token of my esteem.” He sank back down to the ground. He gathered his tattered cloak about him. “Please, sit with me.”

Pindarus did as he was asked. He examined the coin in the firelight. “Is that you?”

Brutus chuckled. It was genuine but weary. “Yes. It reads: Brutus, Imperator, Lucius Plaetorius Cestianus. Cestianus was the one who minted the coin.”

Pindarus turned it over. “Twin daggers and a liberty cap.”

“We wanted to celebrate our freeing Rome from tyranny.” Brutus suddenly frowned. “But the people never understood. I knew they loved the Caesars but I thought they would see reason. I thought they would listen as citizens. I never thought we would have another round of civil wars. How much can Rome take before the unrest destroys her?”

Pindarus grunted and slipped the coin in his pouch. Then he held his hands out to warm them by the fire. He pensively watched the flames.

Brutus relished the quiet. He’d spent the last three weeks with every single one of his commanders badgering him. None of them could agree to a course of action and all they wanted to do with argue with him and each other. He was supposed to be in command but it didn’t feel like it. 

Brutus frowned. Most of his men were dead now, lost to the slaughterhouse that was Philippi. He held his own hands out towards the fire. “You see that small scar on my right hand?” he whispered.

Pindarus only nodded.

“I got that on the day we thought we were saving Rome.” Brutus lips twitched in a bitter smirk. “They were all so eager to rush him that some of us ended up wounding each other.”

“They?” Pindarus echoed.

Brutus rubbed at the scar. “Yes, they,” he hissed. He swallowed and his voice was shaky. “Caesar was my friend and I never wanted to hurt him, but I had to. His power corrupted him.” He shook his head. “I only wanted it to be him. His cousins wouldn’t have been as dangerous without him. Lucius was a reasonable man and Sextus would’ve followed his lead, but the others insisted that the only good Caesar is a dead Caesar.” He shrugged helplessly. “Maybe they were right. I still don’t know.”

“What will you do now?”

Brutus set his jaw. “I certainly won’t surrender to Antony and Octavian. I don’t want to live in a Rome of their creation. We tried but the Republic will die with us” He patted Pindarus’ shoulder. “Will you assist me in one last task?”

Pindarus arched an eyebrow. “What would you have me do?”

Brutus stood and waved for Pindarus to do the same. He offered Pindarus his gladius. “Hold this for me while I run upon it. Tell my remaining commanders to surrender and do all they can to see to the welfare of their men.”

Pindarus took the sword. He regarded Brutus solemnly. “Are you sure this is what you want? You could escape to fight another day.”

Brutus smiled bitterly. “No. Rome and her empire are theirs. Where could I hide?”

Pindarus’ expression changed in a split second to a feral grin. He suddenly kicked the back of Brutus’ knee to bring Brutus to his knees before him. He held the blade to Brutus’ throat. His voice changed to the same flawless, cold Latin that so frightened Cassius before he died. “An honorable death is too quick and painless for you.”

Brutus gasped and tried to jerk away but Pindarus just held him tighter. “It can’t be. Sextus Caesar.”

Pindarus brought the hilt of the sword down onto Brutus’ head. “I’m afraid it is.”   
.  
Brutus collapsed with a whimper. His vision immediately started to fray around the edges. He tried to crawl away but his body wouldn’t obey him. He barely heard oncoming footsteps and Sextus Caesar’s voice before everything went black.

“Cut his tongue out and brand him. Take him to the slave markets of Cyprus or Cilicia. I’m sure there are plenty of locals who would love to get a bit of revenge for all those years of stealing them blind.”


End file.
